You Were My King
by Beckon
Summary: He was a King. He was a God. He was Death.


**A/N: In case you're wondering, yes this is a SoiGan story. I wish I could say it was as a joke or for a dare but...I have fallen to the temptations of this crack couple. Normally I don't pair two enemy figures together but to be honest, this is one of few Soifon-pairings I like and can deal with. I am not a big fan of Soifon but she's a good, stable character so it's fun to pair her together with different people. **

"_You cannot comprehend it, that is the way death is, and from here on until this fight is over, not a single thing will happen that you will be able to comprehend."_

A soft gasp left her lips as she tore herself from her sleep coma. Pushing herself suddenly up on her arms, she sat there gasping; panting as though she had been submerged into the depths of the ocean. A cold sweat slid trickles down her pale flesh as she easily stilled her racing heart and settled her thundering lungs. Putting a hand to her forehead, she pushed aside her wet bangs and moved her dark eyes to the window across the room from her bed. The full moon was shining through the weak blinds; casting striped shadows across her hardwood floors.

Why was she awake? What the hell woke her up?

If it was that fat ass Lieutenant of hers stomping around in the hallways, God help him tomorrow morning…

No…that wasn't it. As much as she would love to blame the dumb-ass, which she was probably going to do anyways, he wasn't the reason. The cold sweat that ran down along her flesh was a part of a memory; one that she had tried desperately to get rid of. It had been close to a year…so why did he still haunt her?

Of all the people to fight…she fought the 'King.'

Her left arm still throbbed at his memory. The feel of every bone in her arm becoming brittle and breaking under the lightest impact; the feel of a cold blade slicing clean through the rotting bone and decaying muscle. She could still remember watching as the fragmented arm dropped to the ground and shattered upon impact; the solid bone disappeared into dust and ash, which was easily swept away by a breeze. He had handicapped her so easily…he had forced her to do the one thing she had been delaying for years. Her hatred for him had quickly overpowered her hatred of her Bankai; she would do whatever was necessary to stop that laugh from echoing around her. He forced her to use the damn contraction twice and yet…still managed to survive each time. For a moment, she believed that like death, he was infinite.

That Vizard, with the sacrifice of his right forearm, turned the aspect of Death around and watched as the Espada was defeated by his own power. Even with the Espada gone, she still felt that level of disappointment and utter emptiness fill her gut. She had been the one defeated; she had failed to deliver the final blow and had resorted to take aid from a Vizard. A Vizard! Of all people! No…she wouldn't even classify them as a person, nor would she say they were a Shinigami or a Hollow; they were mistakes, end of story.

Why the hell was she losing sleep over something so juvenile and stupid?! Losing sleep over a memory, or even that of a stupid man, was something familiar with Matsumoto or even Hinamori…not her.

Captain Soifon of the Second Division did not waste her time dwelling on such pointless manners.

And yet…he wasn't just a man. He was a King. He was a God. He was immortal.

He was death.

**

* * *

**

The morning sun couldn't come early enough for her.

The black material of her Shinigami uniform merged with the shadows as she pulled it over her slender body; followed closely by her yellow obi, she grabbed her white Captain's jacket from its place as she moved passed it. Shouldering open her door, she slipped on the thin jacket and used her foot to close her bedroom door behind her. The early morning sun shined through every open window and any open door; taking advantage to spread its warmth and light at any given opportunity. There was no doubt the other Division members were still dragging themselves from the comfort of their sheets, which meant she only had a few moments of given silence.

Only faint flashes of her figure could be seen as she easily, and quickly, traveled down the long, narrow corridor. Expensive vases shook lightly as she passed by; rattled by the sudden gusts she produced with her speed and yet…it was like she couldn't move fast enough. Flying through the maze of corridors, she slowed down once she reached the large doors that lead into the immense practice field in the center of the Division house. Her dark eyes stared at the hand-carved fixture before she placed her own against the stained wood; feeling the cool temperature of the oak material against her heated hands.

"Captain!"

She physically winced at the voice before slowly glancing over her shoulder; watching the babbling figure racing towards her. The corner of her lips curled into a sneer slightly but she waited for the Lieutenant to speak first before she would mocked him.

"Captain…" Ōmaeda panted; taking a moment to catch his breath first. It hadn't been easy to catch up with her but now that he finally did, the moment was partly delayed by his lack of breath. "Yoruichi is here…she says she has to speak to you."

Once again, that sneer showed itself; her dark eyes hardened slightly. "I'm busy."

"But she-" he started; watching as those eyes burned holes into his own before she turned away from him. She easily pushed aside the large doors before her and entered the practice field.

"Tell her to come back later or better yet, tell her to never come back; it will make me that much happier." she called back to him before practically slamming the doors behind her.

She didn't need anyone.

God help her…no…she didn't need anyone's help.

Stepping out into the middle of the wide-open field, she felt a soft breeze brush passed her and provoked her to stop in her footsteps. The same breeze continued to whirl and whip lightly around her, slowly prompting her to close her eyes and listen to it. Such a cold sensation…like the hands of death gradually making their way over and across her body. Bone-like appendages touched over her face and trailed along the curve of her neck; her slender shoulders were firm in the light stroke and yet her arms and hands trembled lightly; such a cold impression made its way down her chest and over her harsh form. The ends of her jacket fell victim to the stronger breeze and fluttered lifeless in the air; so lifeless…and so dead.

_Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me…_

**A/N: That ending quote is from Emily Dickinson, which I guess I should mention. **


End file.
